A woman called the desk one night. “Can you give me the
phone number for that college in Berkeley, California?”

“UC Berkeley? Sure, hold on just a moment while I find it,”
I said. This was the question.

“Well, they would have an archeology department, right?”

Ok, maybe not.

“Maybe. Would you like me to try to find their number?”

“Yes, they would deal with linking Egyptian artifacts to
DNA, right?”

Ok, the phone number was definitely NOT the question.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean. Like finding out the cause
of King Tut’s death?”

“No, YOU know – tracing living DNA to artifacts.”

“You mean the DNA of a person living right now? To ancient
artifacts?”

“Yes! So that you can trace your ancestry.”

Oh. Well, then. Of course. THIS was the question.

“Well, I’m not sure the archeology department would cover
that. Wouldn’t DNA fall more into the biology department?”

“Maybe you’re right. Never mind that, can you tell me how
people get the Nobel Peace Prize?”

Oh, THIS is the question? “Sure, I can find that out for
you.” I began to read her the information off the Nobel website – that a person
must be known for their work and contribution to world peace.

“To peace? Can’t it be for other things?” she asked.

“Well, no. Not for the Peace prize.”

“Well, how about the Nobel Peace prize for DNA? I know they
have one like that.”

Ok, if this is the question, then I have some serious
homework to do. But fortunately, the penny dropped for me ... “Ma’m, I think
maybe what you want is the Nobel Prize in physiology or medicine?”

“Yes, that’s it. How does someone get that?”

I continued to read from the Nobel website that the prize is
awarded for outstanding contributions in the field. The person must be nominated
by a professor or scientist from a selected medical academy or university, or
by a Nobel laureate.

“You mean I can’t nominate my pastor?”

Voila – that is the question. Finally.

“No, ma’m, unless you are a professor, scientist or Nobel
prize winner, I’m sorry, you can’t.”

She sounded fairly cheerful about it. “Well, thank you for
all the information. I’m so glad I can call the library and find out things
like this, aren’t you?”

You know, maybe THAT is the real question. And I was happy
to answer this one:

I was at the desk when a middle-aged woman
with a southern accent walked slowly up. “Excuse me. I need to get on a computer, can you help me?”

“Sure. Do you have a library card here? That’s what we use
for computer access.”

She hesitated and laid down her thick folder of papers.
“Well, I’m from out of town, but I own property here. Can I get a library
card?”

I explained that she could go either way. If she had her
property tax bill, she could get a regular library card, but if she had an out
of town ID, she could have a computer pass.

“I have the tax bill with me, but I’m not sure I have the
time today. Can I do it next time I come in?” she asked.

“Of course!” I said. “Whatever works best for you.”

“Thank you so much. Here’s my ID."

“Great!” I said. I made her a card and registered it.
“Here’s your card, it’s good for a month,” and I explained to her how to use
it.

She smiled and thanked me, then stood still, just looking at
me.

“I so appreciate you helping me,” she finally said. “You
have been so kind, explaining all this to me, and giving me your time.” She
stopped. “You didn’t ask, but I’ll tell you, I don’t know why. Did you hear
about the graduate student who was killed recently?”

I nodded my head.

“I’m her mother."

Oh. Oh, dear.

"I’m here to....close up the house, and take
care of things.”

I put my hand on her arm. “Oh, ma’m, I’m so sorry."

She nodded her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “That’s
why I appreciate your help so much. This is a....hard time.”

I squeezed her arm, but didn’t say anything, as my own eyes
were full by this time. She smiled sadly, gathered her papers, and turned
toward the computers.

The point of the story is this: I did nothing for that woman
that I haven’t done for hundreds of other people this year. I have given the
same explanation, spent the same amount of time, used the same tone of voice,
given them all the same access to the computers. But to this woman, me just
doing my job was a grace.

You can do it, too, no matter what your job is. Do it so that it is a grace, if only to yourself. Just be aware, realize: no matter how many hundreds of times, you do not know what THIS time could mean
to someone else.

Hi, everyone. It’s been almost a year since my last post.
Thank you all for your kind emails checking on me, I appreciate that!

While unfortunately our patrons continue to be mostly in job
search mode, they stay pretty cheerful through it. I hear them reminding
themselves, “I’ve worked before, I’ll work again.” Yesterday a man was helping
the woman at the next internet station with the unemployment site and he said,
“I’m professionally unemployed. I lost my job a year ago May.” Then he reminded
himself, “At least they’re still paying me while I look for work.” A year ago
May was when the first manufacturer left here, so he was one of the very first
in this area to lose his job. And yet, he keeps coming in, was willing to help
someone else out and is still reminding himself that things will get better.

We can all use a reminder. A sort of raggedly dressed man
with bags around his feet and a Homeless Shelter nametag handed me a CD. “A
lady told me my resume is on there,” he said. “Can you print me out a copy?”

“Sure, we’ll get you on a computer. It’s fifteen cents a
copy. How many did you want?”

“Oh.” He stopped. “I don’t have fifteen cents. Uh, can I at
least LOOK at it?”

“Well, of course you can.” I put it in and pulled it up on
the screen.

“Yeah! That’s it! I need a copy I can send to a boss, I
might be able to get a job.”

“Sir, do you have to mail it? Can you email it instead?”

“Can you DO that???!? She said she made me an email....”

“Did you write it down? And do you have the boss’ email
address?”

“Just a minute, she gave me the boss’ card. Would it be on
there?” He started ripping through his wallet. “Here’s her card right here.” He
handed it to me.

“Yes, sir,” I pointed. “Here’s her email address.”

“Can you show me how to do this? I never did email before.”

“Yes, sir, no problem.” I showed him how to get into his
account and compose, then downloaded from the CD, attached it and sent. Then I
put his resume in the trash and emptied it, to protect his information from
others.

By the way, his resume? He has 23 years experience as a
welder, at two of the largest manufacturers in the area. He may not know how to
send an email, but this man evidently knows what he’s doing with a welding
torch.

“All set, sir. It’s sent and you’re good to go.”

“That’s IT??!?” He jumped up out of his chair. “Thank you so
much, lady. I can still catch the twenty after bus and just go home. This is a
great day!” He gathered up his bags and went off briskly toward the front door.

This man is unemployed and homeless and doesn’t have fifteen
cents to his name. But because I helped him, today is a great day.

Well, now.

You know what?

Now that I think about it...

Yes! As a matter of fact, today IS a great day. Thank you,
sir, for the reminder.

I got an email from another librarian of the feel-good tribe, along with permission to link and share. Another example of how the little things we do in the everyday course of things may be huge to someone else. Keep it up, everyone!

Hi, everyone. Many thanks to
those of you who have asked after me. I appreciate being missed. Nothing dire
is happening, but there is a lot of chaos both at home and at work. My son will
be graduating high school a year early, and there are a lot of preparations
toward that end going on. I also had another cancer treatment. A fairly common
but definitely not hoped for result of thyroid cancer is recurrence. The body
scan after last treatment was clear; bloodwork in six months and another scan
next fall.

The Midwest is not unlike
other regions and has been affected by the current economic
crisis. We lost a major manufacturer here due to a direct hit from a tornado,
then two others closed up shop. Literally thousands of people are out of work in
our tri-county area. The unemployment offices are swamped and people are being
sent to the library with little or no guidance.

These former factory workers,
some with limited English language skills, and very few computer skills, must
use the internet to file for unemployment, get entered in our state’s required
database and post a resume. I consider myself fairly computer savvy and this is
a cranky, confusing and unfriendly interface.

Many of our patrons do not
know how to type and do not understand why they need an email address, much
less how to establish one. Taco Bell, McDonald’s and Wal-Mart, as well as the
larger employers in our area, all require applications to be filled out online.
People who can’t even speak English well are required to make resumes without
knowing how to say the word (“my rezoom” is how one patron referred to it),
much less fill in the form with properly capitalized names. One man did not
know what a capital letter was.

They must locate employer
websites, make a user name and password, find a job opening and find the
application. They must fill it in, make an email address and resume, and learn
to upload, attach or cut and paste it.

Our computer facilities are
maxed out. Before this summer, a five or ten minute wait was the most patrons
could expect. There are now often 25 people in line with a 30-40 minute wait.

Most of our patrons have no
other resources and are rising to the occasion. There is some impatience,
especially with children who play games and use MySpace and other social
networking sites. So far, for us, a user is a user, and everyone is entitled to
their first hour uninterrupted, and their second hour if they get back in the
wait list.

Meanwhile, because of state
tax issues, the library has had a hiring freeze since May. No one has been laid
off, but because of staff losses due to attrition and no replacements hired,
most departments are down to bare bones. We are still offering our most popular
public computer classes, but most programming has ceased. Our main priorities
are staffing the desks, giving great customer service and maintaining our
excellent collection. Public opinion of the library remains high.

The true reference question
is ever more rare, and so are the stories that I used to tell here. Most of my
transactions are now just that: tech oriented and business related. There is no
doubt they are important and valued, but there is not the emotional content
attached to them. People’s priorities and energies are focused on survival:
getting a job in order to eat and have a place to live.

So that’s the news from Lake
Woebegone, as Garrison Keillor says, where the women are strong and the men are
good-looking. The librarians? They’re still feeling pretty good.

I was startled the other day by a woman approaching the desk. She was a small, roundish woman, not threatening at all, and after a very pleasant greeting, asked, “Can you tell me if my husband is dead?”

Oh.

“Ah, let’s see here. When was the last time you heard from him?”

“It was about six years ago, I think,” she said. “He doesn’t live in the area.”

“Ok,” I hesitated.

“The Social Security office sent me over here,” she explained. “They said you might have some information that could help me.”

“That’s interesting, I was just thinking they were the exact people that could help you. But we have a subscription to the Social Security death index. Let’s look for him in there.”

I felt vaguely heartless describing it like that, but she didn’t seem to be exactly grieving, so I trusted I hadn’t offended her.

“Um, I’m sorry? His name doesn’t appear to be here.” I was feeling more confused by now. Was I sorry he wasn’t dead? Was she?

“Do you have any other information?”

“Does he have family in the area? If he had died, would they have published an obituary? We can search his name in the obituary index and see if one is published under his name.”

“Yes, he has family here.” We looked in the obit index and did not find him there, either.

“Ma’am, I suggest you contact his family to find out for sure. Have you tried to contact him?”

“Well, he doesn’t answer my letters,” she said. “And the last one came back. Maybe I will call his family.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more,” I said.

“Well, at least I know that officially, he doesn’t seem to be dead,” she said. “That’s a start.”

“Good luck with the family,” I said.

She laughed, very gently. “I may need it,” she said. “Thank you.”

My head is spinning. So apparently to some people, you get married and disappear, and somehow, to the other person, that is ok for six years and then it isn’t. Maybe I am just old-fashioned, but for me when people marry, I expect them to hang out together. You know, more often than every six years. And that your spouse would know whether you were alive or dead. And that communication with his family would not require luck in any way.

Somebody knows this man somewhere. But to her, here, is he really among the living?

It’s not a part of the job I enjoy, but often the library is one last place to learn about the latest scam. It’s happened with Ebay, it’s happened with online banks, and now, with email.

A very tall, roundish man bustled up to the desk in a great hurry. “Ma’m, I’d like a list of the closest branch of these banks, anywhere within say, three hours of here.”

I looked at the list. I didn’t recognize the names of any of them. I went to anywho.com and entered a bank name – the nearest one was three states away. “No, that’s too far,” he said sadly.

I tried the next one, same problem. Finally, third try, I found one in the next state, maybe four hours from here. His face lit up, and he almost ran from the desk, ecstatic, to the pay phone.

I saw him slam the receiver down and come purposefully back to my desk, head down and mumbling under his breath. “They’re just trying to steal my joy, they’re NOT going to steal my joy,” he said.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“They won’t open an account for me. Could you look for another bank for me?” He handed me the list, and it was an email – from Nigeria. Asking him to open a bank account with a small amount of money in it so they could add more. He was a long lost cousin…I’m sure we’ve all received a similar one.

I pretended to look at it, and wondered how to word my response, so as to be heard and not lumped in with the joy-stealers.

“Sir, I wonder if you and I might be related.”

His eyebrows shot straight up. As I said, he was very tall. He was also African American. I am very short and white. “What? Why?” he asked.

“I received a very similar email to this one,” I said. “Mine was a scam – they just wanted me to open an account so they could steal the money. They never intended to add any more to it at all.”

He was still surprised. “An email like this one? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir – we even got one here at work in our department email, very similar to this one. I’m afraid it is another scam.”

He was hesitating. I could see him weighing it in his mind. “Maybe that is why the bank wouldn’t open an account for you, sir. Too many other people that have gotten ripped off have complained. Would you still like me to look up another bank for you?”

He stopped. Slowly, he took his list back, and said very sadly, “No – no, I don’t think so. Thank you for your help.”

It is never fun to be the one to pop somebody’s balloon. But I know I did the right thing for that man – and who knows? We might be related, after all.

I’m sorry for the long silence. I had some minor health issues, Christmas came, I missed my daughter when she went back to school, and life seemed....small. Strange to say, I know, for someone who preaches all the time about the importance of small.

But today I had an interview with a local celebrity, a woman with a cause. Lo and behold, she began talking about each person doing their part, doing what they are good at, to help make the world a better place. She was encouraging, inspiring. So here I am, doing again the small thing I do.

A man called the desk and asked for the number for City Code Enforcement. “I....can’t seem to find the number,” he said.

“Let me look a minute,” I said, and I was stunned to hear him burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, sir, I know it must be frightening. I’m a cancer survivor myself.”

“You are?” He continued to cry, but more quietly.

“Yes, it’s been almost a year since my surgery. The doctors will do all they can for you.”

He was quieter as I gave him the number, and when we hung up, I said, “Bless you, sir.”

“Thank you.”

That’s all – a phone number, and letting him know he’s not the only one. I am the one who slowed the tears today, and I prayed a little prayer for those who will be the ones to slow the tears tomorrow and throughout his treatment.

Hi, everyone. Now that summer is truly over and I have accomplished my three main goals of getting my daughter graduated and off to college, my son his driver’s permit and the four new cats neutered, I am back to blogging. Life does go on...thank you to those of you who checked to make sure all was well. It’s nice to be missed.

I just had woman on the phone this morning who identified herself as the mother of a teen. She wanted to know if children were allowed to come to the library and get on Myspace. When I said yes, she said, "Oh! My! That should be illegal!”

Shocked silence on my end, then she said, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

This literally was the entire conversation. I have no idea what her personal concerns were, what her child is like, what other convictions they may have that are coloring her experiences. But the interaction raised several questions for me, some more difficult to answer than others.

Social networking is a wonderful way to keep in touch when people can’t be together. It’s a way to meet, collaborate with and co-create material across miles, disciplines, continents and oceans. It is extremely cool…

…as long as everyone involved is also extremely cool. What if they aren’t?

I’m all for Web 2.0, interconnectivity and online communities. But I have my reservations, for all that. Some time ago, Michael Stephens was relaxing at his cottage, and some people in kayaks came by. Turns out they saw his photos on Flickr and came in search of him.

It has a happy ending – they were fans and thought he was cool and he was happy to have met them. Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and I feel more physically vulnerable, maybe it’s because Michael expects the best of the world and gets it, while I know from past experience that there is also less than the best out there, I don’t know. I can't speak for him.

But I’ll tell you this: if any of you hunt me down while I am on vacation, I will not be amused. I will be terrified. As in, “What is it that you want of me? Are you hiding an axe behind your back? You’re not after my bank account number or my children, are you?” Unfortunately, we all know there are predators of many stripes and stations out there.

Now – before you put me into the same category as the poor woman who called me, remember that I have a distinct online presence that I value very much. I use other social networking sites. But to me, as perhaps to this woman, online is one thing - when it becomes physical, it is another.

The questions: Do all of the Web 2.0-or-bust people realize that this is what I am dealing with, at least here in the Midwest? Frightened parents, deeply concerned for the well-being of their children, concerned enough to say “It ought to be illegal” but not well-informed enough to know that isn't necessary?

How do I take those frightened people gently by the hand and show them it's not so scary? How do I teach their teens to operate safely on the web so that it doesn't have to be scary for their parents or for them?

How do I let the 2.0-or-bust people know I’m doing my best with what I have to work with?

Where is the line between online life and in-person interaction? How do people draw the lines, make the decisions? How to teach teens to do it wisely and well?